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Life in monochrome
Has been smooth and safe
The world of colours, allures
Newer avenues, shores
Measured steps  
A journey to embrace
A rainbow awaits
Thank you so much, for the sunshine here, V, you are gracious and kind :) ☀️
I. The Boy With The Cuckoo Clock Heart

Born with a frozen heart,
abandoned in
Edinburgh.

One kind physician
laid her hands upon him,
in a bit of medicinal salvation,
by placing a cuckoo clock
inside his chest.

Now an orphan,
among peculiar friends:
tear-filled flasks,
eggs containing memories,
and a man with a musical spine.

There's but one catch
for this boy:
his heart is fragile,
he must never, ever
fall in love.

Existence is undoubted.
But without this one emotion,
can he really live?

Love is a bitter token.


II. The Girl With Glass Feet

"It was a humid night,
later to become a hated night."

Upon an island sound,
feet first, she is slowing turning
into glass.

By sheer happenstance,
she meets a shy boy
who lives there
with an extreme fear
of being touched.

As she slowly disappears,
she untethers herself
from self-pity,
by teaching the boy the value
of interaction.

Inchmeal, he begins to reach out
and feels everything
she has lost to the night.

Love is a bitter token.


III. The Snow Child

"November was here."

A married couple,
in Alaskan remote,
suffering from one great sadness:
no child of their own
and unable to talk of it.

He's buried by
the weight of the outer ice,
she's crumbling
from inner despair.

And so on a rare
friendly day trek,
they built a child out of snow,
outfitted with mittens and scarf.

A day later it is gone,
remembered only in absentia,
yet there appears
a beautifully arrayed
creature of winter,
a little, lissome girl in the woods,
hunting with the red fox.

In wishing to understand
these encounters,
the couple come to love the child
as their very own daughter.

Yet will she ever accept them
as they do her?

Or see them
merely as snowdrops?

Figurines frosted over by
the harsh landscape
they each wander?

Love is a bitter token.
BLT's continued challenge - to write a poem using the Merriam-Webster word of the day, lissome. It's in there somewhere.
I love this place
But it looks pale
Much to dole out
Losing the trail
Heavy
Feels like it would derail
Should I offload
Or
Maybe wait for help
Long forgotten
None to bail
she was made
of tender things;
treads of gold,
and silvered strings,
with little bones
and broken wings,
buttons, pins,
and rusty springs
~
her mind was filled
with little dreams;
to be a queen,
a crown to gleam,
a rainbow bridge
out into space,
a quiet room
to hide her face
~
too delicate
for this world;
a tiny bed,
with a tiny girl,
who's window felt
like iron bars,
so she left her body
and went to the stars
~
no longer small,
no longer frail,
no longer sadness,
and wicked tales,
out in the stars
she burns so bright,
a golden glimmer
lights up the night
I am tearing up writing this.  This is a dedication to a friend who struggled to the very end.  I like to believe she won even though she isn't with us anymore.
To Love a Writer
you must be brave,
eager to read
the words
you would rather
hear.

To Love a Writer
you must be prepared,
for days hidden
from the sun,
a symptom of
the disease.


To Love a Writer
you must be crazy,
ignore the insomnia
and fight
for attention
at night.

but know this ..

If a Writer Loves You,
their Love is complete,
you are amazing to them,
they will dream
of you often,
in ink forevermore.
Being taught today
Lessons of peace
Paying attention
Coming together
While staying away
Lessons of peace
We are learning
ANEW
Day
BY
DAY
We will
GET THROUGH
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